There shouldn't have been a problem.
My friends were all going to Cincinnati. I knew there was a slight chance I'd see him, but I told myself I didn't care. And if I saw him I'd just be shouty and awful anyway, so what did it matter? And my friends would be there. And Mark. Thank Goodness for Mark, I can always rely on him to be there for me, except when we're drunk after the most amazing evening ever and he kisses me and confuses me and then turns around and dates someone who is essentially a ten years younger, less dark version of me. But that's Mark. Back to Cincinnati.
I ran a marathon there. My fifth marathon. It was, by all accounts, the most excruciating experience of my running life, and I've had some bad ones. I went into it expecting to bonk but hoping I'd pull it out in spite of food poisoning. I had a handful of spaghetti and a little spinach the night before, and it was so hot I couldn't swallow the Clif Shots or Jelly Bellies I'd brought. I bonked hard. Thank Goodness for Mike and Brad, who had run the relay and paced me from miles 5-18. I nearly quit twice with Mike, about 8 times with Brad. Somehow they talked me through and I finished in 4:04. Not my slowest time, but not great. I was miserable over it when all was said and done, but when I called my sister afterward from Mike's phone I discovered I had lost my phone and had to find it. They all went on to the hash party and I went on a quest.
After half an hour of searching, getting lifted over the fence by a very large-muscled security guard (the leg cramps were excruciating), crossing the finish line again, getting kicked out of the production motorhome, borrowing a phone from the announcer's assistant and calling my phone a dozen times, getting accosted by medical personnel in the chute because I 'looked cold,' I discovered that there was in fact a lost and found. When I told the lady "It's the one with the snail on it," my phone was produced in thirty seconds, my credit card and driver's license still inside. I breathed a sigh of relief and hobbled toward the parking garage to get my rental car.
By the time I got a coffee, got the car, changed my shoes and my shirt and figured out where the party was, I had forgotten all about where I was. I hobbled down a dirt path through some tall grass and emerged in a parking lot. Brad saw me and waved and I hobbled faster, eager to thank him for getting me through the worst part of the race. He is such a good friend, he lifts me up so high. He makes my heart feel bigger and stronger and happier. And as Brad rushed toward me beaming and my heart was growing, I noticed someone else walking toward me too, all in black. And my heart wasn't just growing anymore, it was fluttering. Adrenaline shot through my body, all my hair stood up. I was angry and elated and frightened and sure of myself all at once. I thought this must be what it feels like to be a warrior and see your enemy face to face.
It was him, of course. The Black Squirrel. I wondered if I would punch him when he got close enough. I wanted to. I hoped I looked good. He'd gained weight, but it looked good on him. He looked...older. Grown up, finally. He was still the sexiest man I'd ever seen. That swagger. He smiled and I could barely see Brad anymore. "What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously.
Thank god he did because otherwise I really might have punched him.
I smiled back easily. "Running a marathon. What are you doing here?"
I don't know what he said. His mouth moved. That velvet voice came out. I couldn't think. I wondered how long it would be before I cried. He was probably thinking I was pathetic for coming. He probably didn't want me anymore, or probably had a girlfriend or something. That last thought shook me awake and finally I turned fully to Brad. Thank you, Brad. You helped me so much. Words came out of my mouth and I was looking at Brad, but every cell in my body was pointing at Him. I registered that He was standing there awkwardly watching me. I didn't want it to be awful. I told him to give me a hug. It was the most awkward, uncomfortable hug I'd ever had with anyone, maybe because my body was telling me to melt into him and kiss him, but I was resisting so hard.
Then he disappeared.
I didn't even pretend to not be looking around everywhere for him. I had no idea where he went. I was disappointed. I figured all my fears had been true and just resumed the business of post-marathon partying. I slammed a beer, figuring if I got drunk maybe I'd forget. After two days of food poisoning and a marathon I wasn't hungry. I couldn't feel my stomach, because my body was still on high alert for him. I forced myself to nibble at things.
Some things happened, but the only calories in my body were from beer and I was drunk and giggly so I didn't really notice. I was happy my friends were so wonderful and glad to be with them, but it was bittersweet, tinged by the anger of having bombed another goal race. I felt like I won at failing. We drove somewhere. There was a parking lot. He wasn't there. There were some people. He wasn't there. I leaned on Mike and Stephanie, fighting the urge to climb back into the car and curl up in the backseat and cry for my failed effort and scream away my anger at myself for wishing he hadn't walked away from me. When was I going to learn?
I met some people. They were nice. There was a hot girl I sort of knew from Boston and she and I kept eyeballing each other, pretending not to be flirting in front of her boyfriend. The boys liked me. That's always fun. It started to make me feel better. There was a dark one, maybe a little older than me, with a wolfish smile. I pretended to have met him before, one of my favorite games to play. I decided I would have him. I just wanted someone to kiss me. I wanted someone to stare at me with complete frustration and say, "You're something else," and stop time by holding me tight and kissing my mouth there in front of everyone.
Then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, there he was, drunk and tackling one of the men. I didn't know where he'd come from. Then he was talking to a girl that seemed somehow familiar to me. She touched the thyme tattoo on his arm. I was overwhelmed with jealousy. He seemed to be ignoring me. I leaned on Mark. I wished Mark would kiss me again. I wished anyone would. I wished the ground would open up and I would fall into the hole, a failure at racing. An empty woman with an empty belly who could only feel empty thinking of the long list of men who had treated her like shit. A sorry version of my real self.
It was time to go, so I went. I quickly found myself unable to slowly jog, and thankfully Mark and Stephanie were walking too. We saw the familiar girl. She was nice. We talked with her and the man who was with her. We got lost. It was hot. We saw someone else. There was a phone call. We found the end. He wasn't there either, just two guys who said everyone was way behind us. I got a beer and tried not to feel so alone.
Then the bar was full. The dark one with the wolfy smile, the one I saw at the start, he was there and I played the next move in my game, "Oh you know, I was totally mistaken. You just look so familiar. Do you have a brother?" I felt very clever, and it was working; he liked me. The beer was working too, my friends were all there and I was talking to new people and I liked them and it was wonderful. We all went upstairs, and then He appeared in the crowd, ignoring me again. I decided I would be big and ignore him right back. I gravitated to the Boston girl, a little to distance myself from my friends and a little because I just liked her company and thought she was pretty and wanted to look at her close up some more. I leaned against the booth where she was sitting and chatted with her, waiting for things to begin.
Suddenly there He was right in front of me, so close that I thought he might kiss me. He mumbled, shy and cocky at the same time. He said there was an elephant in the room. I smiled. What elephant? I see no elephants here. He said "I know I was a dick to you and I'm sorry," and a bunch of other words. The velvet of his voice was clouding my head again, but I was entertained and impressed that he was taking the time and effort to apologize. He had changed his shirt into a ridiculous neon yellow thing, and he looked so rueful and serious that it was completely comical. I think I might have laughed at him. I think I told him I appreciated the apology. He grinned at me and said we were really good at kissing and asked me if I wanted to go make out. I was dumbstruck then, wondering in a tipsy haze how he was reading my mind and curious if he'd noticed me watching his lips. I couldn't help smiling and blurted, "Kind of...?" Oh boy. I recovered quickly though. "Maybe later, if you get me drunk enough," I told him with a thin pretense that he didn't have a chance. He didn't. Did he? I still wanted to punch him. I was proud of myself for handling it all so well.
More things happened. I heard his voice behind me. I had more beer, maybe in attempt to get myself drunk enough for him, I'm not sure. I was having fun. I liked these people. I felt at home and made myself at home and made jokes and teased them and pretended to be all offended when someone made fun of my hair, which was up in the classic cinnamon buns with little flowers.
He'd appear, he'd disappear. I wandered and chatted and had fun. I talked to Boston girl a lot and then my friend with the wolfish grin just to have another guy to talk to me. "He likes you," he said. "He's not the only one," I challenged with a grin and a flutter of my eyelashes. Moments later I was talking to someone different and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Black Squirrel gesture to him and say something. He looked at me and walked away.
I must have turned red, I was so enraged. What had he said? Did I just get cock blocked by an asshole who kept me on the backburner for 8 months three years ago? I stormed into the next room. I was so livid. I whined to Mike and Stephanie about it, skipping over the cock blocking bit, because I don't like it when my friends know what's going on in that department. "I'm fine though," I said. "Fuck him. He can go to hell." I was drunk and didn't want the beer anymore.
Then he walked by, saying to someone he was going downstairs for more beer and I handed him mine. When I called his name to get his attention, my insides wrenched, I could feel the blood draining from my face and all I wanted was for him to drop the bottle and wrap his arms around me. Our eyes met for just a moment before I looked away, trying so hard to pretend it was no big deal, that the moment of familiarity was a matter of casual recognition and not a matter of intense intimacy.
I do not remember how he wound up on the bench where I was leaning. I do not remember how I wound up a breath away from him but there he was, staring at my chest and biting his lip, teasing me and telling me I smelled terrible. We were talking about something, I don't know what. Catching up, maybe. What's the news? How have you been? I told him about my company. He said the name with recognition, as if he had been watching me. I got lost in his dark eyes. His voice was making me more drunk than the booze. Everything inside me was on high alert. I had to fight not to show how pleased I was at the way he was staring at me.
Somehow--I think he ordered me to sit down--I wound up sitting next to him on the bench. I was being magnanimous, "I'm so glad things are better for you. That's really great." "Oh stop!" he said, cutting through my bullshit. "Don't be like that." "Like what?" We bickered. It was fun. I teased him. He was being honest and I liked the feeling of reality between us, a feeling I'd always desperately wanted with him long ago but could never quite find. I told him, frankly, "I really liked you." "I really liked you," was his instant comeback. I think I smiled doubtfully at him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my friends disapproving and ignored them. They'd never seen me like this with someone - it was like a bubble had formed around the two of us and we were all alone sitting next to one another on this bench, not touching, but nonetheless intertwined.
Then some older guy came in and, making a show of being funny, squeezed his way between us, interrupting our conversation. I could tell it was some kind of move to split us apart, and from the way he talked, I sensed it was for my benefit. I could have screamed. He obviously didn't know there was history between us, but still, the notion that it was any of his business was offensive to me. Still, thinking about it now, it probably looked pretty intense, and maybe he was just trying to lighten things up.
I excused myself and went downstairs to the ladies room. Maybe Black Squirrel went to get another beer. Somehow though, minutes later there he was next to me again, telling me to kiss him. "Not here," I hissed, glancing around at the crowd around us. He rose and walked four feet away to a corner that was just as public. He leaned against the wall and even though my marathon legs felt like rubber I floated to him like a piece of metal to a magnet and then our lips touched and I braced myself with a hand on his chest because, just like the first time we kissed it felt like a tornado was ripping through the room, through me, throwing everything I knew about the world into a spinning whirlwind that made no sense.
And then half a second later as my mouth opened to him and I tasted him and felt his lips and his tongue on mine time screeched to a halt in the eye of that tornado. My spinning whirlwind of a life fell to the floor and I knew what was real for me. Him. He was real. Him and me. This was a truth I'd been denying for so long: I loved this man. I had loved him since the moment he'd looked at me in a bar three years earlier with his hair still wet from rain and said "You're something else." I knew I'd follow him to the ends of the earth, that my love for him was bigger than any force in my life, that every relationship I had up to that point had been preparation for this. And more, I knew he loved me too. I didn't believe that he wanted to, and I knew that I didn't want to, but that's just the way it was. Even for me, a woman who doesn't believe in fate, it was as clear as an Alpine lake that we were meant to be together. I belonged here, in his arms, kissing and touching and murmuring to one another.
He groped at my hips, my ass, my breasts, and I hissed at him to stop. He said something. I wasn't drunk on beer anymore, but I was nearly dizzy, drunk on him. Maybe it was that I hadn't had more than a handful of solid food in three days. We bickered through the kissing. I don't remember what I said, but something made him suddenly pull back as if lightning had struck and stammered, "Did you ... were you ... in ... love ... with me?"
That was it. I was already fighting tears because of the shit day I was having and the horrible realization that I still loved him, but now I couldn't hold them back. I felt them falling down my cheeks. "Can we go outside?" I didn't want to cry in front of people.
He sprang away from me and down the steps eagerly, leaving me in his wake. Without him there to dull the pain, my legs wobbled as the feeling came back. I pointedly ignored the stares of my friends, but Stephanie asked if we could go soon. They wanted to eat. "Soon, sure." I muttered. I saw Rachel look at Eric, the only one who had seen me with the Black Squirrel before. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
I grabbed on hard to the railing to keep myself upright as I took each stair one by one. I saw him downstairs flitting outside. He was bouncing, excited ... did he think ...? What did he think? Was he feeling like he'd won? I sure was feeling defeated.
I hobbled outside the bar and snapped at him for leaving me behind. He was giddy and ignored it. What was up with him? Why was he so happy? "You're the worst!" I shouted. "You're the worst!" he shot back, grinning. "How dare you?" I cried, "You're asking all the wrong questions!"
"Maybe I'm asking all the right questions!"
I had nothing to say. I think I told him to shut up. I think I collapsed into his chest. I might have told him I hated him. Then there was his mouth on mine and there it was ... the time standing still thing. "We were together for what, a couple months?" He asked. "That?" I scoffed, "That was not 'together.' We were never 'together.' We were were the thing that never started and never finished."
He murmured something about how good it was in spite of that and pressed me against the bricks to kiss me again. He put my hand on his cock and I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment and rage - we were in public, outside a bar, with people's houses across the wide street - but I wrapped my fingers around it anyway. I'd forgotten how big it was. I glanced around frantically trying to think of where we could go so I could have it inside of me.
We argued more. He wanted to fuck me. This wasn't the right time though, I was sore and stiff and my friends were trying to flag me down and get me to leave. "Take me home then," I said. "There's no room at the house where I'm staying." He growled. "I don't live here." "What? Where do you live now?" "Indianapolis. I'm crashing on someone's couch." I groaned. But then I remembered I had a perfect reason to go to Indianapolis. I told him I'd come see him, just to talk. Yeah, that's it. Just talking. Ha. My only thought was how I could have sex with him, and I knew there was no way my body could handle it on this day. And I had to fly out at six in the morning. He balked and I think I cried. He said something about never seeing me again.
I had been thinking about it for months and exploring my options, but suddenly I knew it was true so I just blurted out: "I'm leaving New York." It wasn't about him, I certainly wasn't leaving for him, and it was already half decided, but there in that moment of clarity I realized that New York was just a place I lived that took too much from me and offered very little in return.
"You are?" he asked quickly. The hint of desperation in his voice left me confused. "Where are you going?" "Cleveland." "When?" "Soon. My lease is up in a month."
He walked to the other side of the brick wall. The empty feeling overtook my chest again. It was over. He was going to send me away. It was for the best; I could see my friends in the doorway, pretending not to watch, but hovering. They wanted to leave.
"I have to go," I said. I figured I'd beat him to the punch and save some face.
He turned and leveled his dark eyes at me. "Come here."
I stared at him, frowning, fretting, and the fifteen feet between us felt like miles. I wanted to be right. I wanted to win. I wanted to walk away from him, my head held high in victory. But winning would mean walking away from him forever, and I was afraid that meant I would never have the feeling of perfect belonging again from the eye of the tornado. I wished he'd say, 'yes, come see me.' or 'let me take you somewhere now,' or even just 'please.'
"Kyle, I'm not asking," He said firmly. "Come here."
The wind was knocked out of me and every muscle between my legs clenched tight. He said my name! And what's more, he was telling me he wanted me. We'd played this game a little back when, but he hadn't ever given me an order before, not like this. In just those two words, he said he remembered what I like, and that he liked it too, and that he wanted me to belong to him.
I could barely stand, but I walked to him, my skin humming with need. My heartbeats felt like they were shaking my entire body.
"Now kiss me." I obeyed and there it was again, the eye of the storm. Every worry I had wilted away. I was whole here with him. He wanted me, and I wanted to belong to him and that was all that mattered.
His hand fumbled to push my shorts aside, which brought me back to the present; we were on a public street next to a bar. I sensed the oglers behind me. I didn't wholly care, but I laughed and pushed his hand away anyway. "I have to go!" I giggled. "Look," he said, his arms locked around my waist, "if you and I dated it would be a disaster." I wondered where he'd even gotten the idea. I certainly hadn't brought it up, and for me it wasn't even really on the table. I hadn't thought he was capable or interested in anything serious, I just wanted to take a vacation and fuck his brains out. "We'd be together for six months and then I'd do something to fuck it up and it would be over."
I thought about that. It didn't sound so bad if I got to spend the six months having sex with him. "I don't know, it kind of seems worth it..." I mused. I wondered if I was still drunk, or if I just really needed to get laid. This didn't sound like me. No, it sounded like Funny Me. Yeah, it was Funny Me coming out because I was exhausted and had just run a marathon and hadn't eaten all day and I was tired of arguing with him so there was Funny Me cracking a half joke. I laughed at it and explained, "It's not like that. It's not that big a deal for me to take a trip. I fly around all the time to cover races." I could schmooze with the people at USATF, I reasoned. I pawed at him, wanting another kiss, but too exhausted to make a valiant effort.
My friends interrupted us. They wanted to leave. Great, the car was over there, here are the keys. I turned back to him and suddenly everything was falling apart. He seemed angry and frustrated. I was so tired and needed to eat. My friends were asking me to come with them. I asked him to come too. Then what? I didn't know. He was ebbing away. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Let's just see each other and we can talk about things then, I begged. Then he was leaving. I didn't want him to go but there he was, walking away. "Come with me," he said. "Now or never."
I wanted to go after him, but my legs wouldn't work. "I can't," I choked through the first sob.
He crossed the street and kept walking. He didn't turn back. I wanted to call after him and explain that literally, my legs would not work, but no. No ultimatums. I do not do ultimatums. I made the choice to let him go.
I gasped for air. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and I was so overwhelmed with hunger and my legs suddenly felt the weight of the 30 miles I'd put on them that day and my skin was suddenly on fire from my sunburn and my heart fell out on the sidewalk, I wasn't sure where, probably somewhere between my running shoes. I sobbed the same heaving, full-bodied sob that I had after he told me he was leaving New York.
I turned around and there was Mark to catch me. "He broke me!" I choked. "I'm so broken and it's all his fault!" I cried so hard and so long, Mark's big hands rubbing my back as he crushed me close and told me it would be alright. Relief. I was crying with relief that the hard part was over. I had made the right choice by letting him go, and I knew it.
I don't even remember what happened after. They put me in the car. Mark held me close. I was so embarrassed. They took me somewhere, to a restaurant. I buried my misery deep under a veneer of positivity. Hungry for the first time in three days, I ordered half the menu and was full after three bites, but I felt better. I felt some clarity.
With Mark's uncharacteristically tender guidance, I decided to make my offer one last time. I wrote him a note, "I meant what I said. I want to see you and spend some time and talk about things, but I need you to come to me. I need you to make the decision whether you want to make it happen." Off it went through my phone and into the ether, and I sighed with no trace of surprise when no reply had come by the end of dinner. I figured that was it.
An hour later, my phone lit up.
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